He thought he heard a scream and jumped out of his bed. He was sweating and feeling a little shaky. "Bad dream, I guess", he said to himself as he fumbled for his clock. Before he could read its darkened face there came a loud pounding at his door , accompanied by a bellow proclaiming to one and all that he was "up today", or in laymans terms he was scheduled to fly. "Well, I was up anyway" he said to no one. He walked over, turned on a small light and marked off another day on his calendar. "Another day in Viet Nam. I feel like I've been here forever" he mumbled as he searched for his shaving gear and stumbled off to the showers. "Forever!" he said again.
    He was mumbling to himself again as he left, the large, sunken bunker that was the Calvary Troop's Flight Operations. He had never flown a mission such as this. He was to fly, single ship, to a remote staging field towards the west, close to the Cambodian border, land and await further orders. "Well, this is the screwiest mission yet but, when you're in the 'Cav' it's do or die. Right? Right!!"
    His crew chief shook his head as the young pilot, still talking to himself, approached the aircraft,. "How much more crazy will this guy get before I quit flying with him" he mused, knowing full well he would never fly with anyone else. They were a team and a damn good one. Nothing would break them up. They would fly together, forever. They checked the small OH-6A scout helicopter prior to flight, then mounted up and flew off towards the west.
    They flew at a comfortable altitude, a few thousand feet above the ground, and watched as the war torn land unfolded beneath them. Miles to their left the smoke from a burning village rose up to the sun, while miles to their right artillery and bombs ripped away a jungle forest. Only to their front was it clear and bright. The little ship needed to refuel before reaching its destination and during the fueling operation they heated some "C" rations in the aircrafts hot exhaust pipe. With the engine at flight idle he slumped in his seat and let his mind wander. He tried to remember how many flights, how many refuelings, how many take offs and landings it had been since he first got in country. "It's been forever" he said, "forever". With a full tank and some hot chow they flew off to find the remote airfield.
    After locating the field, they circled to insure it was safe to land. It seemed to be deserted, only the old French colonial building was there to greet them. After landing they hovered to a small pad made of metal planking and shut down the engine. "Now where are the folks we're suppose to meet?" he said angrily. They waited a short while and then decided to look around. The crew chief walked in one direction and he, towards the old building. He entered what was left, of this former bastion of an empire and picked through its emptiness. As he walked into the rear, he was amazed to find an old dressing mirror. It stood in a lone beam of sunlight, covered over with layers of dust and history. He wiped at it with his Cav scarf, rubbing a circle to see his face. As his reflection began to show, he noticed a strange opaqueness in the glass. He pressed his face close and his eyes grew wide. There, in the glassy haze, were people standing around and in civilian clothes, just like back in the States. Some looked strangely familiar. "Yes! Yes!! I know those guys. We're all pilots here. We're all in the same outfit !" His mind was racing. "That's Jim, but where's his hair ? And that one is Joe and since when did he wear glasses? And there's Ed and Bob! Why do they look so different ? Why do they look so old?"
    The men standing on the other side stared at the black, shiny wall and the many names upon it. One of them commented on how good it was that the pilot and the crew chief's names had been placed so close together. They would have liked it that way. The aging warriors placed their hands on the name of their fallen comrade together, then they slowly walked away as the last rays of a summer sun faded from the jet colored stone of the Viet Nam Memorial.
    The pilot jumped back from the glass, startled and confused. The lone sunbeam was fading when he again look towards the mirror. He felt the first trace of a scream as he watched his reflection begin to vanish, for what he knew would be... forever .
    He thought he heard a scream and jumped out of his bed. He was sweating and feeling a little shaky. "Bad dream, I guess"!

Ed Gallagher

(The author is a former Army helicopter pilot who flew
more than 200 combat missions in Viet Nam and Cambodia)